


He's Just a Bully

by Cody_kun



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Disturbing Content, Incest, Let's see what happens, M/M, Sly is a major bully, angst angst angst, did i mention angst???, i don't know what this is, i promise there will be nice parts, mentions of underage diddly do, nothing explicit I promise, sly is really fucked up, smut in future chapters most likely, whoo boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cody_kun/pseuds/Cody_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Left with next to nothing after his parents' bankruptcy, Ren has nowhere left to go but his grandmother's house. It's just as he remembers it—but so are his cousins, Aoba and Shiro. </p><p>And Shiro just never grew up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What a Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> What the fuck did I do 
> 
> P.S. Notes continued at the end. 
> 
> P.S.S Shiro = Sly Blue/Aoba's twin brother. Ren and Aoba and Shiro are cousins. :]

It was like a vacation: like he was a kid again.   
  
He used to love visiting Granny’s; she always had food on the table, games to play, and his cousins were his favorite people in the world, especially given his track record with his peers. Too smart, too robotic, too _weird_ —the list was endless. But at Granny’s, he almost felt like he belonged.   
  
Thirteen years later, he wondered if that feeling still existed.   
  
“Good morning,” he said, eyes downcast, the ringing of the doorbell a fresh echo in his mind. The doormat read _‘welcome’_ —he felt anything but. “I know my mother called you beforehand, and I hope I’m not intruding, but…”   
  
The words dried up in his mouth, leaving him staring at his feet, trying to ignore the word driving itself into his mind like a screw. Welcome, welcome, welcome.   
  
He was never welcome.    
  
“...I need a place to stay for a while, since my mother and father were called out on business, and I can’t afford a place of my own quite yet—the dorms at school are f-full, and the house—the house isn’t ours anymore, since the bank—“   
  
“Stop your yammering and come inside.”   
  
Ren peeked up.   
  
Granny was shorter than he remembered, like an ant to him now: something much too tiny to be so strong. But in the mind of a six-year-old, even the shortest person seems like a giant.   
  
“...Thank you.”   
  
He stepped inside, wiping his feet on the doormat before he did (smearing that lying ‘welcome’ with mud, he hoped), and offered his grandmother a wobbly smile.   
  
“Is that all you brought?” she asked, nodding to the suitcase held firmly in his trembling hands. “Only one?”   
  
Slowly, Ren nodded.   
  
“It’s all that’s important to me.”   
  
Granny sighed, arms crossed, wrinkled face stern: just like he remembered her. It would be comforting, if it weren’t so intimidating.   
  
“I would say you could wear Aoba or Shiro’s clothes if needed, but…” She eyed him up-and-down with a twitch of her lip. “You’ve certainly grown since the last time I saw you.”   
  
Ren blushed.   
  
“I’m...tall, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I have enough clothes to last me. Don’t worry about me, please.”   
  
Granny scrunched her brow.   
  
“Just how long do you intend on staying, Ren?”   
  
Ren swallowed hard, setting his suitcase by the foot of the stairs.   
  
“...Until I can afford a place of my own.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry for intruding.”   
  
Granny sighed, shaking her head.   
  
“Stop this ‘stranger’ business, Ren—if you need to stay, you need to stay.” She brushed past him, towards the kitchen; Ren could smell something _delicious_ cooking on the stove. “Don’t pussyfoot around it. You’re family, not a stray dog.”   
  
Ren found it in himself to manage a smile, even through the knot in his throat.   
  
“...Thank you.”   
  
Perhaps he was more welcome than he thought.   
  
“Ren?” Aoba gaped from the top of the stairs, wonder spread across his face. Ren smiled up at him, immediately at ease. He’d _missed_ Aoba. “I haven’t seen you in—geez, you haven’t—“   
  
“When the hell did you get so goddamn _big?"_   
  
And there went Ren’s ease.   
  
Aoba laughed.   
  
“What Shiro’s _trying_ to say is...wow.” Aoba grinned, bounding down the stairs, hand sliding down the rail. “It’s been a while.”   
  
Shiro stepped down with crossed arms, his expression much less welcoming than Aoba’s; Ren took a step back in return, eyes darting all over the place, as though he was searching for an escape route (perhaps the closed door was a good one, he thought as he gripped the handle). Shiro grinned.   
  
“You might be a giant, but you’re still damn timid.” He smacked Ren on the shoulder once he managed to corner him, right against the door. Ren gulped.    
  
“...Sorry.”   
  
Aoba frowned.   
  
“Stop scaring him, Shiro.”   
  
“Ain’t my fault he’s easy to spook.”   
  
Ren sighed, brushing Shiro’s hand off of his shoulder.    
  
“I’m not scared.”   
  
Shiro cracked a grin of his own, but unlike Aoba’s, it was mocking; mean; borderline cruel. Ren’s skin crawled.   
  
“...We’ll see about that.”   
  
“Boys!” Immediately, Shiro’s demeanor changed: his back was straight, expression blank, hands nowhere near Ren _or_ his shoulder. Ren watched the change in awe. “Lunch is ready! Don’t let it get cold!”   
  
Shiro and Aoba scrambled to the kitchen, nearly leaving dust in their hurried wake. Ren blinked before following behind, albeit much more slowly than the both of them. He couldn’t find it in himself to walk much faster.   
  
He was ill at ease.    
  
As they ate—Shiro wolfing his food down without pause between bites and Aoba taking the time to thank Granny for each and every dish, much to her obvious chagrin—he couldn’t help but remember the feeling of Shiro’s hand, the mocking look on his face.    
  
He knew he wasn’t welcome.   
  
But Aoba— _Aoba_ was as sweet as Ren remembered. Courteous; kind; thoughtful to a fault. Shiro, he decided, was exactly the same as well. That in itself was _terrifying._   
  
Kicking sand in Ren’s face; hiding his clothes while he was in the bath; sprinkling salt in his hot chocolate (Ren had lost his taste for sugar as a direct result); and being a five-year-old _demon_ in every definition of the word. ‘Shiro’ was hardly a fitting name for him; ‘Kuro’ sounded much, much better, in Ren’s God honest opinion.   
  
“Yo.”   
  
Ren jumped.   
  
“Why the hell you spacin’ out so bad?” Kuro— _Shiro_ said with a grin, waving his rice-speckled chopsticks in Ren’s face. “Got somethin’ you wanna share with the class?”   
  
“Shiro,” Aoba hissed. “Leave him alone. He's  _adjusting."_   
  
Shiro shrugged, but slinked back into his seat, reminding Ren of a snake, its attack foiled. His hands began to shake.   
  
“It’s fine,” Ren said. “He’s only teasing.”   
  
As he met Shiro’s gaze head-on, the demon blinked, spooning rice into his mouth with slitted yellow eyes. The hair on the back of Ren’s neck stood on end, and slowly, he pushed his plate away.   
  
Nobody said a word—not even Granny, who usually forced more food on them than they could possibly stomach (perhaps she remembered Ren’s nervous stomach from all those years ago, for which he was thankful, if that were the case). The only sound Ren heard was his heart beating in his ears; all he could see were Kuro’s yellow eyes, watching his every move.   
  
He wanted to go home.   
  
“E-Excuse me,” he stammered, standing so quickly the chair fell out from under him. Shiro snickered; Aoba smacked his arm. “It—it was a long drive here, and I’m tired. Could I possibly lie down?”   
  
Granny eyed him, then Shiro, then gave a slow nod.   
  
“You’ll be staying in your old room.”   
  
Ren gave her a look of utmost relief.   
  
“Thank you.”   
  
As he scurried off, metaphorical tail between his legs, Shiro watched him with a sly smirk. Aoba sighed, looking much less than pleased.   
  
“You’re a real bully, y’know that?”   
  
Shiro’s smirk grew.   
  
“Don’t flatter me.”   
  
Alone at last, Ren lay in his old bed, gripping the covers and unearthing settled dust in the process. He gave a weak cough, legs held closely to his body, and sighed. If this was rock bottom, it was certainly as bad as everyone made it out to be.   
  
No money, no house of his own, family a thousand miles away—those were things he could deal with, but adding Shiro into the equation made it feel downright unfair. Granny and Aoba were wonderful—how on Earth was Shiro related to them?   
  
A knock on the door made Ren dart up, holding a pillow to his chest as though it were a shield. When it was Aoba who pushed the door open with the gentlest smile, however, Ren loosened his grip.   
  
“Hey,” Aoba said, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “Don’t let Shiro get to you, okay? He’s just—“ Aoba sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sure you remember how he is.”   
  
Ren gulped, then nodded.   
  
“I do. He—I was hoping he’d grown up a bit, but…” Ren gave a weak laugh. “I suppose that was asking for too much.”   
  
“Hey.” Aoba frowned. “He’s not _all_ bad. He just…” Aoba sighed, tugging at a lock of his hair and loosely wrapping it around his pointer finger. Ren watched the movement closely. “If he thinks he can _get_ to someone, he’s gonna do everything he can until he _does_  get to them. He’s bored and has a mean streak—a bad combo, but…” Aoba sighed. “It’s how he is for now. He’s not as bad as he used to be, though, and if he tries to poison your food or something—“ Ren went white. “We’ll chew him out for it, okay?”   
  
Ren’s mouth was dry.   
  
“Poison...my food?”   
  
Aoba’s eyes went wide.   
  
“He wouldn’t actually do that!” He waved his hands frantically. “I promise he’s—he’s harmless! Just mean!”   
  
Ren fell against the bed, blank face pointed towards the ceiling.   
  
“...Am I going to die?”   
  
Aoba deflated.   
  
“ _Shiro_ would die before we let anything happen to you.”   
  
Ren hugged the pillow tighter, gaze held by the off-white, popcorn ceiling.   
  
“...Okay.”   
  
Ren wasn’t convinced.   
  
“Look, Ren…” Aoba stepped closer and sank onto the bed, patting the top of Ren’s head. He smiled. “You’ve got me and Granny, _and_ Shiro, even if it feels like he’s against you. He’s not. He just…” Aoba stared at the ceiling, following Ren’s gaze. “Never grew up.”   
  
Aoba stood.   
  
“Granny told us what happened, with the foreclosure and your parents, ah... _leaving._ But, like I said, you’ve got us.” Aoba grinned; Ren’s hopes rose. “We won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay?”   
  
Weakly, Ren nodded.   
  
“...Thank you.”   
  
“Don’t mention it.”   
  
With a little wink (one much less sinister than Shiro’s, Ren noted with a sense of relief), Aoba excused himself, gently closing the door behind him. Ren tried his hardest to relax.    
  
What an impossible feat that was.   
  
It was only just past noon, but he soon found himself drifting; his dreams were painted yellow and tasted like salt. He woke around three, said the clock hung on the wall, sweaty, with hair matted together and plastered to his forehead. He decided a shower was needed.   
  
He remembered the layout of this house like the back of his hand (he’d spent enough time here as a child to draw a detailed map of this place, he was sure). After grabbing a stack of clean, folded clothes from his suitcase, Ren peeked his head out the door, looked both ways, then sprinted towards the bathroom, thankful to find it unoccupied. He let out a relieved sigh.   
  
He locked the door behind him, and slowly undressed, taking the time to _breathe._ Perhaps what Aoba said rang true: Shiro was harmless. He was a bully, a _tyrant,_ in all reality, but really, his pranks were nothing to be afraid of. In the mind of a six-year-old, any slight felt like the end of the world. Perhaps that was all Ren needed to remember to pull all of this back into perspective.   
  
He took his time in the shower, though tiny pinpricks of anxiety nudged at his chest, his throat, his lungs. He knew Granny didn’t like them wasting water, but given this day, hell, this past _month,_ Ren hoped she’d let it slide, just this once.    
  
Ren allowed himself to close his eyes, tilt his head back, clear his head, clean his body; it was almost meditative, how quickly and thoroughly a hot shower managed to calm him down.   
  
He was at peace.   
  
And then, he wasn’t.   
  
The shower curtain was ripped back with such force Ren barely held back the instinct to yelp—he did, however, press himself against the wall, trying to make himself seem as small as his size would let him.    
  
Yellow eyes were the first thing he saw.   
  
“Got ya,” Shiro laughed, reaching for the dial and turning it as cold as it would go. Ren’s teeth chattered as the temperature plummeted. “Did you forget I know how to pick locks?”   
  
Ren’s heart pounded.   
  
“But hey…” Shiro caught his tongue between his teeth, eyes roaming down, down…   
  
_Down._   
  
“I guess _all_ of you grew since we were kids, huh?”   
  
Ren was mortified.   
  
“Get out,” he hissed, hands tucked beneath his armpits as he shivered, not a move made for the modesty he desperately craved—that would be letting Kuro win, and he couldn’t have that. “Leave me alone—we aren’t k-kids anymore.” He glared at him, mustering all the animosity he could into that single look. “Get out.”   
  
Shiro’s eyebrows shot up, and his posture—which had been lazy, one arm braced against the shower wall, shoulders slumped as could be—straightened dramatically. Now, he was a looming predator, a snake with its hood puffed out.   
  
“Don’t tell me what to do, faggot.”   
  
Shiro stepped into the shower with Ren, caging him against the wall; Ren’s eyes were wider than they’d ever been. Shiro even served as a partial shield for the pelting, icey-cold water: a testament to the demon’s determination.    
_  
_ _“I_ make the rules, remember?” He smiled, hand pressed against Ren’s chest, pinning him against the wall without strength. Ren was frozen by fear alone. “You should know that by now, Ren—remember when we used to play _doctor?”_   
  
Ren could hardly breathe. A heartbeat; two; three.   
  
“...No.”   
  
Shiro laughed, tracing the goosebumps on Ren’s frigid skin. Ren gulped.   
  
“Guess you wouldn’t,” Kuro mumbled. Half of his hair was plastered against his skull; Ren wondered how he wasn’t shivering by now. “But _I_ do, Ren.”    
  
He made a fist against Ren’s chest.   
_  
_ _“I_ remember _e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.”_   
  
And then, without another taunting word, Shiro stepped out out of the shower, leaving Ren still immobile, still frozen, still pressed against the wall with the feeling of Shiro’s hand like a third-degree burn on his chest.   
  
“Granny said Dinner’ll be ready in, like, an hour,” Shiro drawled, grabbing a towel and patting at his clothes, his dripping hair; Ren blinked.    
  
He was insane.   
  
“...Thank you,” Ren said, voice hoarse. “I’ll—I’ll be ready by then.”   
  
Shiro laughed: the sound was higher-pitched than Ren expected, but just as unnerving. Ren rubbed at his arms.   
  
“See ya,” the demon said with a wave and a wink. Then, he was gone, door left wide open behind him. Ren still found it impossible to move; perhaps he was trying to conserve what little warmth he had left.  
  
He was still.  
  
“Ren?”   
  
Ren’s eyes darted up.   
  
It was Aoba.   
  
“A-Ah—“ Ren yanked the shower curtain closed, shivering with crimson-red cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut. “S-Sorry—“    
  
Footsteps: the last thing Ren wanted to hear.   
  
“Are you—are you _okay?”_ Aoba’s voice was shaky. “It—the door was just—“   
  
“I know,” Ren said. “Please close it behind you.”   
  
Aoba was silent.   
  
“...Alright.”   
  
Ren let out a staggered sigh of relief as he heard Aoba step out and the door click into place. Ren turned to the nozzle, much too aware of his ability to turn it warmer, but he didn’t. He finished his shower, numb by the end of it, and towel-dried himself with eyes dead as he felt. He wanted to go home.   
  
But this was his home now, and all he could hear was the Shiro’s laughter.  
  
Rock bottom was terrible, indeed.


	2. Remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter twooooo
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of self-harm and disordered eating (nothing too bad imo but I don't wanna upset anybody :x )

Ren was dressed and dry by the time dinner was ready, as promised. His nerves, however, had leagues to go before they calmed. Shiro was a _maniac—_ he was _much_ worse than Ren remembered, but thirteen years was quite a while. Perhaps time had softened his memories.     
  
“Boys!” Tae bellowed from the kitchen. “Dinner is ready!”   
  
Ren grimaced, holding his face in shaky hands. He didn’t want to be around _anyone_ at the moment, let alone Shiro. But Granny’s wrath wasn’t something he hoped to incur, either. This was the definition of a catch-22.   
  
Begrudgingly, he lifted his sore body off of the bed (that cold shower had done nothing but lock up his joints), and headed towards the stairs. Each step he took sounded like a freight train.   
  
“Took you long enough,” Granny said as he wandered into the kitchen, one eyebrow raised. “Take a seat—dinner’s already half cold.”   
  
“Sorry,” Ren muttered, taking his seat across from Shiro. He didn’t lift his gaze; he only focused on taking the smallest portion of every dish that he could get away with. Everyone was silent.   
  
Until they weren’t.   
  
“Hey, Ren…” Ren chanced a peek at Aoba before his gaze followed Aoba’s down to his plate. Ren blinked.  “What’s on your mind?”   
  
“A boy your size should be eating more than that,” Granny chimed in, motioning towards him with her chopsticks. “Go on. There’s plenty for everyone.”   
  
“I’m not really...” Ren muttered; but, regardless, he spooned himself another small portion of meat and vegetables (not that he wanted to eat it; every bite felt like a stone had been dropped into his stomach). “Sorry.”   
  
Something nudged Ren’s leg.   
  
“Don’t be goin’ all anorexic on us, now,” Shiro said with a lazy little smirk. “Are ya just desperate for attention since your parents dumped you on us? That’s kinda depressing.”   
  
Granny glared daggers at Shiro from across the table.   
  
“That’s inappropriate, Shiro.”   
  
Shiro raised one shoulder, rolling it without a care. Ren frowned.   
  
“My bad."  
  
Something nudged Ren’s leg again, sending goosebumps across his skin.   
  
“Stop it,” he hissed under his breath, chair-legs scraping against the floor as he moved backwards. Shiro laughed; Granny stared.   
  
“Spit it out, Ren. You’ve got us all holding our breath.”   
  
Ren shook his head with a wave of his hand.   
  
“It’s just s-strange, seeing you all again...is all…” He’d trailed off, elbow propped against the table, one hand cradling the side of his face as the other fell into his lap. His head began to pound. “I—I have a headache...”   
  
Granny frowned.   
  
“You can always reheat your dinner, you know.” She seemed genuinely _worried._ Ren felt guilty. “If you want to lie down again, you’re more than welcome to.”   
  
Ren nodded, ignoring Shiro’s little huff.   
  
“Thank you.”   
  
With that, he excused himself from the dinner table for the second time that day, feet like anchors as he trudged to the stairs. He paused as he heard voices rising from the other room, interest piqued.   
  
“Stop whatever it is you’re doing.” It was Granny who spoke. “You’re making him uncomfortable, and he’s already been through enough. He’s family, Shiro.”   
  
“I didn’t _do_ anything.” Ren’s mouth set into a firm line. “It’s not my fault he’s skittish as a damn kitten. Tell him to toughen up, or—or—“   
  
“Go to your room.”   
  
_"What?”_   
  
“I said, you’re excused. Think about your behavior, for once in your life.”   
  
Ren’s lip twitched upwards; he could imagine Granny waving her chopsticks, shooing Shiro away. A grumble, the scraping of a chair against the floor, then hurried footsteps—Ren’s eyes went wide and he bounded up the stairs, hoping to beat Shiro by just enough to lock his door and huddle in bed. Luckily, he made it.   
  
Ren stayed holed up in his room for the rest of the night, more than ready to put this day behind him. It was hardly eight by the time his eyes began to close, but given today’s events, he wasn’t going to fight it.   
  
“Sleep, it is,” he muttered, closing the book he’d fished from his belongings and setting it on the bedside table. But his heart felt even heavier than his mind.   
  
Thankfully, he soon found sleep.   
  
He woke shortly after the sun rose, feeling much more rested than he’d expected to. At this rate, he could almost imagine that yesterday never happened. Maybe it _didn’t_ happen—maybe it was a figment of his imagination: a result of too much stress.   
  
Ren turned over in bed, the springs creaking loudly in protest, and blinked at a sheet of paper resting on the bedside table. He reached for it, eyes scanning over the neat cursive, and smiled. It was Granny, telling him she was at the hospital until seven that evening, and to have a good day.   
  
He would make sure of it.   
  
Ren dressed himself quickly, checking his hair and face in the mirror hung on the wall, then headed downstairs, stomach grumbling. After practically fasting the day before, he was _famished._   
  
“Ren!” Aoba greeted him, waving his hand. “How’d you sleep? Feeling any better?”   
  
Ren nodded, heading to the stove and the covered leftovers Granny left out for them.   
  
“Much.” Ren opened his mouth, shot Aoba a look, then closed it again, turning back to the stove. “...I’m sorry for acting so strange yesterday.”   
  
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Aoba came up beside him, placing his plate on the counter. “You’ve had a rough week—nobody blames you. And we _know_ Shiro bein’ a total _ass_ doesn’t help things.”   
  
Ren gave a weak laugh.   
  
“I know you said he’s harmless, but…” Ren shook his head. His behavior was _unsettling—_ deeply. “I’m sure things will pan out.”   
  
Ren helped himself to his own portion of breakfast, chatting with Aoba all the while; it took him a few moments to take note of Shiro’s absence, but once he did, he couldn’t help but wonder where he was.   
  
Aoba laughed.   
  
“Shiro? Awake before noon?” He shook his head. “Fat chance.”   
  
That was comforting.   
  
“So…” Ren sat across from Aoba, smiling just a bit shyly. “What do you have planned for the day?”   
  
Aoba shrugged.   
  
“I’m off work again today—“ Ren frowned. Aoba had a job? “And Shiro just...does Shiro stuff, so…” Aoba grinned. “Whatever you feel like doing is fine by me.”   
  
Ren blinked.   
  
He didn’t feel like doing much of anything.   
  
“...Uh…” Ren poked at his scrambled eggs. “We could…”   
  
He drew a complete blank.   
  
“...I’m not...sure.”   
  
Aoba’s expression fell, and he pulled a face: not a mean one, or one of any measure of disgust. He seemed to be thinking.   
  
“How about a walk?” Ren peeked up. “We could head to the park down the road—the one we used to play at all the time, when we were kids! We could hang out there for a bit, then—ah, I dunno. Grab lunch somewhere?”   
  
Ren’s lips twitched up.   
  
“...I like that idea.”   
  
The morning flew by quickly, but quietly. Ren enjoyed Aoba’s company—and with Shiro sleeping upstairs, he could almost imagine it was just the two of them. He wished it was.   
  
Around ten forty-five (just when Aoba had begun to doze off on the couch, leaving Ren to read in his corner of the couch), footsteps descended the stairs, kicking Ren’s heart into high gear. He took a deep, steadying breath, met Shiro’s gaze as he rounded the corner, and said:   
  
“Good morning.”   
  
Shiro looked like an absolute zombie: a raggedy bird’s nest for hair, dark circles under his eyes, the pattern of his mattress pressed against his face—Ren had a hard time hiding his snort.   
  
“....I guess.”   
  
Shiro trudged right past him, towards the kitchen, leaving Ren staring over his shoulder with a smirk on his lips. When Shiro was like this, it was even _easier_ to imagine that yesterday never happened.   
  
“He’s up?” Aoba slurred, blinking at Ren with a little yawn. “Kinda early for him…”   
  
A sound akin to a truck driving through the back wall came from deep in the kitchen, making Aoba bolt upright and throw his feet over the edge of the couch.   
  
“Idiot isn’t even awake,” he muttered, standing with the slightest wobble and hurrying into the kitchen. Once there, Ren heard a bellowed: “What the hell did you just break?”   
  
“...Nothin’.”   
  
_“Really?”_   
  
Ren heard the sound of ceramic scraping against the floor; he imagined Shiro had tried to kick something away.   
  
“...Yeah.”   
  
Ren turned a page in his book, lip twitching wildly.  
  
“Then why are there scrambled eggs all over the floor?”   
  
“‘Cause that’s where they wanted to be...?”   
  
A pause, then a sigh.   
  
“...You’re an idiot.” Ren heard footsteps heading towards the laundry room attached to the kitchen. “Help me clean this mess up, dummy.”   
  
Shiro groaned.   
  
“But I’m _hungry.”_   
  
"Don't wanna hear it.”   
  
Within a few moments, Aoba was back on the couch next to Ren, Shiro sitting in the armchair across from them. Ren had to admit he certainly looked more awake now that he had a mug of black coffee and a bowl of cold cereal, but his mood hadn’t lifted a bit. He glared daggers at Ren as their gazes crossed.   
  
“What the hell are you lookin’ at?”   
  
Ren jumped, then jerked his gaze back to his book with a little shake of his head.   
  
“Nothing.”   
  
Aoba frowned.   
  
“I know you’re not a morning—well, _afternoon—_ person, but drop the attitude.”   
  
Shiro rolled his eyes.   
  
_“What_ attitude?”   
  
Aoba sighed. The room fell into silence.    
  
“...So me and Ren decided to get out today—go to the park, walk around, maybe get some food.” He gave an encouraging smile. “Wanna come with?”   
  
Shiro snorted.   
  
“I’ll pass.”   
  
With a frown, Aoba leaned forward, fists on his knees.   
  
“Come on, Shiro.”   
  
“I’d rather stare at a wall.”   
  
“Don’t be an ass.”   
  
Ren reached out and tapped Aoba’s arm.   
  
“If he doesn’t want to come, there’s no point in forcing him.”   
  
Shiro squinted, then looked at Ren, at Aoba, at Ren again. He smiled.   
  
“...I changed my mind.”   
  
With that, he put his cereal bowl on the coffee table next to his empty mug, and headed towards the stairs.   
  
“Be ready in a sec.”   
  
Aoba gaped after him.   
  
“...That’s a first.”   
  
After stopping upstairs to brush his teeth and quickly freshen up, Ren was ready as well. The three of them soon headed out, making sure to lock the door behind them. Ren stuck close to Aoba, as it provided some measure of comfort, and Shiro stayed a few paces behind them, attention taken by his phone. Ren wondered why he’d even bothered to come at all, but as long as he was being civil, he found he didn’t mind it.   
  
“It’s been so long,” Ren muttered as they neared the park, arms crossed against his chest. “But I still remember this place.”   
  
“It’d be hard to forget,” Aoba said. “We practically lived here as kids.”   
  
Shiro didn’t say a word.   
  
“I remember when you got caught in the red slide and Granny had to call the fire department,” Ren laughed, running his hand along it as they brushed past. “You wouldn’t come near it for the rest of the summer.”   
  
“It was _terrifying,”_ Aoba groaned. “I had nightmares about that for like, three weeks.”   
  
Ren chuckled.   
  
“I can imagine.”   
  
As they neared the swings, both boys decided this was as good a destination as any; Shiro, on the other hand, took to the wooden bench, hugging his knees to his chest as he tapped away at the screen of his phone. Ren frowned.   
  
“...He didn’t have to come,” he whispered, head tilting towards Aoba, gaze locked on Shiro. “He seems miserable.”   
  
Aoba shrugged.   
  
“It’s good for him to get out, at least. Now that we’re not in high school anymore, he...doesn’t do much.” He frowned. “We worry about him. He’s _really_ antisocial. No job, no...friends…”   
  
Shiro’s gaze darted up, and he glowered at Ren before turning his attention back to his phone. Ren sighed.   
  
“I don’t understand why he hates me so much.”   
  
“He doesn’t hate you,” Aoba sighed. “He’s just—he’s in a bad place right now. But he doesn’t hate you.”   
  
As a ringtone cut through the air, Aoba pulled a face and patted his pocket, quickly fishing out his phone. He groaned as he stared at the screen.   
  
“I gotta take this,” he said, leaping off of the swing and heading to the grass. He held his phone up to his ear almost immediately, but with his back turned to Ren, Ren couldn’t decipher a word he said. So, he turned forward again—   
  
Only to be scared half to death.   
  
“Jesus Christ—“ Ren slapped his hand over his chest with a scowl, staring straight into leering, bright yellow eyes. “...Was that necessary?”   
  
Shiro grinned from ear-to-ear, standing just inches in front of Ren.   
  
“Maybe.”   
  
Ren shook his head, but when Shiro didn’t leave—hell, when Shiro didn’t _blink,_ he raised an eyebrow.   
  
“...Is there something I can help you with?”   
  
“As a matter of fact…” Shiro leaned back, reaching into his hoodie pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Ren frowned. “I wanna show you something.”   
  
Ren was wary.   
  
“...I’m not sure I want to be shown.”   
  
Shiro rolled his eyes.   
  
“Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy,” he spat, grabbing Ren’s wrist and yanking him up. “Just follow me. It’ll only take a second.”   
  
Ren shook off his hold, then sighed, resigned. He knew Shiro would get what he wanted, one way or another, and with Aoba nearby, he knew Shiro couldn’t get away with much if he decided to try anything...unsavory.  
  
Or so he hoped.   
  
“Fine.”   
  
Shiro motioned for Ren to follow him; Ren did so warily, with a wistful glance Aoba’s way. He was still on the phone.   
  
“So, you remember that blue slide, yeah?”   
  
Ren’s gaze turned to Shiro as they walked. Aoba was so far away, now…   
  
“...Vaguely.”   
  
_“Well,_ do you remember how there’s that weird place under it? The place that freaked Aoba out ‘cause it’s always so dark?”   
  
Ren’s eyebrows furrowed.   
  
“...I suppose.”   
  
Shiro took a drag of his cigarette—Ren wondered when he’d lit it—and let it out slowly.   
  
“You _should_ remember it.”   
  
Ren’s throat began to tighten; the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Suddenly, he stopped walking.   
  
He didn’t want to go there.   
  
“I don’t think I want to see it.”   
  
Shiro glared over his shoulder, eyes cold as ice.   
  
“You already came this far, didn’t you?”   
  
Ren looked to the side, face tensing up.   
  
“C’mon…” Shiro stepped forward; Ren took a step back. “It’s not that much farther. We’ll only be a second. There’s just—we left a toy under there, like, forever ago, and I want you to see it. I think it was yours.” He smiled. “Okay?”   
  
Ren didn’t like this.   
  
But he didn’t want Shiro to win, either.   
  
“...Alright.”   
  
They continued to walk until they reached the slide, Ren staying a careful four paces behind Shiro, which, unfortunately, left him breathing in more smoke than he thought to be healthy. Ren wondered when he’d picked up that habit.   
  
“We’re here.”   
  
Shiro ducked underneath the grate, hand brushing against the edging. Ren fidgeted.   
  
“Come on,” Shiro hissed, crouched and cloaked in shadows. His eyes were like knives, cutting through the dark. “Don’t pussy out on me. We’ll be like, four seconds, tops.”   
  
Ren ducked down, body lightly shaking.   
  
And that’s when Shiro tugged him in, and they tumbled to the ground.   
  
“Ah—“ Shiro was on top of him, the only light coming from the end of his lit cigarette; Ren’s pulse jumped. “Get off of—“   
  
“Shut up,” Shiro muttered, crawling off of him and flopping onto the wood chips beside him. He raised his cigarette to his lips, or so it seemed in the absence of light. “I slipped.”   
  
“...Oh.”   
  
“So this place,” Shiro said, cigarette dangling from his fingertips; Ren could make out the vague outline of his body: shoulders slumped, knees to his chest. He looked sloppy. “You don’t remember it at all?”   
  
Slowly, Ren shook his head, then croaked out an: “I...don’t think I do.”   
  
Shiro snickered, raising his cigarette again.   
  
“Figures.”   
  
Ren didn’t know what he meant.   
  
“...Why did you want to show me this?”   
  
“Because,” Shiro snapped. “I don’t get why you don’t fuckin’ remember it. It—“ He sounded frustrated, _angry._ “It’s not fuckin’ _fair.”_   
  
Ren began to scoot away; he glanced at the sunlit entrance, wanting nothing more than to escape this cramped, smoke-filled space.   
  
“...What isn’t fair, Shiro?”   
  
Shiro was silent.   
  
“...This.”   
  
Ren took that moment to try and make his way to the exit—this was pointless, a waste of time—but Shiro yanked him back down by the leg of his pants. Ren fell with an ungraceful grunt.   
  
“Stop that,” Shiro hissed, mouth pressed against Ren’s ear, hand gripping the collar of his shirt. Ren shuddered, pushing against Shiro’s shoulder, trying to earn some distance between the two of them. Shiro wouldn’t budge. “Just sit and listen for a fucking second.”   
  
Ren gritted his teeth.   
  
“I know you’re only trying to scare me,” he hissed, turning his face away from Shiro. “But it isn’t working. You can stop.”   
  
Shiro laughed.   
  
“You sure about that?”   
  
Suddenly, Shiro’s lips were against Ren’s neck. Ren went cold.   
  
“...What are you doing?”   
  
Shiro chuckled once again, lips brushing up to just outside Ren’s ear.   
  
“Scaring you.”   
  
Ren shivered, a knot in his throat.   
  
“It isn’t working.”   
  
Sharp pain pierced Ren’s neck, right before his shoulder, and he cried out, whipping his head to the side as he shoved against Shiro’s chest—but Shiro’s grip was _strong._   
  
“S-Stop—th-that—“   
  
Shiro pulled off, the last of his cigarette hanging dangerously close to Ren’s arm. Ren was livid.   
  
“You’re _awful.”_   
  
Silence; the sound of a cigarette sizzling out; a sharp inhale; a long exhale. Ren felt sick.   
  
“...Y’know, Ren,” Shiro began. “Either you’re retarded, or got a shit memory, but you and me…” He laughed. “We had a lot of fun here.”   
  
“Ren! Shiro!”   
  
“....Damn it.”   
  
Ren watched in silence as Shiro crawled out of the space, a scowl on his face; Ren watched him tug down his sleeve, hiding an angry red mark.   
  
He was speechless.   
  
_“There_ you are,” Aoba panted; Ren couldn’t see more than his legs from where he was hidden. “Where—where’s Ren?”   
  
“Under there,” Shiro muttered, brushing past Aoba. He was out of Ren’s sight in a matter of seconds.   
  
Aoba crouched down.   
  
“Ren?” He squinted. “You in there?”   
  
Ren sighed, then shifted, crawling forward. Aoba’s face flooded with relief.   
_  
_ _“There_ you are,” he sighed, taking Ren’s hand and helping him up. “I turned around, and you guys were just—just _gone.”_ He gave a nervous laugh. “Kinda freaked me out, ‘specially since Shiro never answers his phone…”   
  
Ren hung his head.   
  
“...Sorry,” he muttered. “Shiro said he wanted to—to _show_ me something, but...it turned out to be a waste of time.”   
  
Aoba’s eyebrows furrowed.   
  
“...Show you something?”   
  
Ren shrugged his shoulders, brushing the wood chips off of the back of his thighs.   
  
“It wasn’t anything—he was just...going on about the past…”   
  
“Are you faggots comin’ or what?!”   
  
Aoba snorted.   
  
“Well, he’s pretty caught up in the past,” he murmured, turning and heading Shiro’s way; he stood near the gates of the park, arms crossed, head cocked to the side. “Who knows what he’s thinking.”   
  
Ren swallowed and followed behind, eyes on the ground, hand tugging up the collar of his shirt, near the stinging on his neck. But there was something in the back of his mind, knocking on a door that had been closed long ago, welded shut by something stronger than himself.   
  
He didn’t want it to open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any feedback would be really great!  
> Sorry if this chapter was boring.  
> This story is...different from what I've written in the past 0: but I promise I have places I want this to go. I've actually mapped everything out (I'm following an outline what????) so hopefully it'll turn out something like what I have in my head.
> 
> Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this should've gone into more detail in the beginning notes but: Shiro/Kuro = Sly Blue, obviously. But who the fuck would name their kid Sly? No one. Not even parents that don't want their blue-haired-test-tube-babies and ship them off to their Granny's house. They just name their sad kid Ren. 
> 
> New story! Hopefully! I have muse for this (probably because it's fucked up??) and two days off of work so we'll see how this goes. Sorry for any (upcoming) disturbing content, but it's Dramatical Murder and I've tagged it accordingly. :] Any comments/opinions (so long as they're polite and don't ignore any of the warnings posted in favor of nitpicking content) are more than welcome! I'll try to keep up with responding to comments on this story; I know I've fallen waaay behind on my other stories and for that, I apologize. ;-; Being a working adult just.../is./
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!


End file.
